Fairytales
by Draconic Vengence
Summary: There's nothing gentle about this kiss, the way you bite his lip, causing a gasp, and rape his mouth with your tongue, tasting every crevace there." Salazar/Godric Rated M for a reason. Not a rape fic. Oneshot


Disclaimer: Characters are (c) J.K Rowling. I'm just the smutmonkey. Also, flames will be used to fuel me through the winter cost-effectively.

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Love is a queer and funny thing. Stories and fairytales told to children about love usually end in a happily ever after, a prince charming coming to save his perfect princess, and everyone will be happy in the end. Of course, you know that this is not the case.

You know that it would never work out between you and him. It is not allowed to work out between you and him.

Which, of course, is why you leave. A front, incredibly devious, if you do say so yourself, will be that you cannot stand the fact that he admits mudbloods into the school. Of course, like happily ever afters, this is not the case. But he will never be any the wiser. You are bitterly content with this.

Of course, you've toyed with the idea of telling him, just confessing your feelings like so many fairytales. You know fine well that it would not work. He would take it to be some kind of jest. Even if he did accept your feelings for him, and humoured you for a while, it still would not work out. You are too different. You quarrel all the time, he has it in his mind that these mudbloods should be admitted into the school.

He accuses you, and asks you why you hate them so much, but you glare and hold your silence.

It is not the fact that you hate the mudbloods. You wish that were the case, but alas no. Perhaps it is because they are so easily killed, you do not wish for him to form friendships with his students, only to be hurt when they are killed because they cannot defend themselves.

But that still does not change the fact that your feelings for him have been left unsaid. You would like to keep it that way, thank-you-very-much-and-good-day-to-you-Sir.

But, as fate is a cruel mistress, she still has one more hand to deal you.

And, of course, as you reach the border of the school grounds, he is waiting for you. Naturally.

"Salazar."

His voice is soft now, not at all hoarse like so many times you've yelled at each other, questioning and his eyes look hurt.

You could die from the look he gives you, as though he is to blame for this.

"Godric."

Your reply is not as hushed, quite sharp and telling him where he stands, that his resistance to your resignation is not a welcome subject.

"Salazar.. Why do you leave us?"

You wish you could bring yourself to scream at him, tell him to leave, to leave you alone, where you can, in the quiet and the dark, like the serpents you so cherish, nurse your wounds and hope that time will cover your scars.

"I-.. My reasons are my own, Godric. You would have done yourself a favour not to be present this night; your attempts to make me see sense are unwanted."

You hate yourself for dismissing him so, but like freeing a wild animal, you must tell them to go; It is for his own good.

"Please don't go. I-.. We need you at the school."

He may think that his slip was covered well, but you know otherwise, your interest perked momentarily, as you blink owlishly, and glance around the silver birch trees that surround you.

You sigh, softly, knowing all too well that he hears you as you curse under your breath.

"..Please..?"

You close the space between you in an instant, your lips brushing against his as he blinks in shock, his tongue darting out to lick his lips nervously. You don't see this but you feel the wet brush of his tongue and take it as an invitation, whether he meant it as such or not, you want this to last as long as possible.

It is quite evident from the confused noise he makes that this display was not expected from you, but as you push your tongue into his mouth, tasting him, from the fact that he doesn't pull away, you guess that wasn't unwanted. Eventually, he responds, sliding his tongue along yours and sucking slightly, and the shock almost makes your knees buckle. You pull away after a few seconds more and see his chocolate brown eyes watching you with amusement.

"And what was all that about?"

His voice is amused too, setting off something inside of you. He thinks that this is a joke? A soft growl escapes you, one you might have heard more from him as you watched him sleep from afar, and you claim his lips again. There's nothing gentle about this kiss, the way you bite his lip, causing a gasp, and rape his mouth with your tongue, tasting every crevace there.

He tastes like the wine colour of the sky now, as your hand runs up his back to tangle in his hair, forcing him back against the tree. You pull away from him enough to see his tongue flick out to taste the blood dotting his lower lip, and you run a hand over his shoulder. He looks indecisive for a moment, before nodding once and promptly sitting on the grass, pulling you down with him, as if it by consenting to yours and his own desires it could convince you to stay.

You are on him in an instant, all teeth and tongue and lips, as you tear open his shirt, buttons springing off into the grass like opals, you attack his exposed skin, gold in the twilight, claiming and marking and _mine, mine, mine._

His head tips back, presenting his throat as he moans quietly, half in pain, half terrible, unholy pleasure as you move away from his neck to lick down his collar, inhaling his scent like a life-giving drug, whence you become intoxicated.

Glancing up to his eyes, mahogany and slitted with wanton desire, your hand slides down his smooth chest, brushing against his nipples, causing a gasp to escape his kiss-swollen lips.

You smirk wickedly. Oh yes.

Lapping gently at the sensetive nub with your tongue, he pants quietly, quite unprepared for when you bite him roughly, causing him to jack-knife beneath you, arching and crying your name, thus causing a delicious slow burn of arousal to coil low in your belly, driving you to tortured insanity.

"Salazar.." He moans, squeezing his eyes shut, though you don't notice, as your fingers trace the bulge in the front of his trousers with delicate precision.

"Salazar, please.."

And you are only too happy to oblige, removing his trousers swiftly and what lies beneath, before sitting back to admire his beauty. Slowly, painfully slowly, do you draw up your shirt, pulling the silken material over your head before casting it aside. Once that is done, you waste no time ridding yourself of the rest of your constricting clothing, before resuming your place on top of him.

"Oh, Godric." You sigh. Almost sadly, you wouldn't show him that. He doesn't need to know that. This is lust, pure and simple, nothing more, nothing less. He is merely here to satisfy your desires and his own curiousity, you tell yourself.

He shoots you a look of confusion, the way the light settles around his face makes it almost look as though he's smiling sadly, as though he knows.

A slight snarl curls your lip as you seek to destroy that unnerving calm that he presents himself with now, despite everything. You force a finger roughly past his initial resistence, causing him to cry out in pain, snapping you out of your anger. You close your eyes and add another, more gently this time, making him squirm and whimper with need.

A third, and he is begging you to hurry up, lest he die of your torturous ministrations.

You hesitate, before shifting him so that his legs hug your waist comfortably, the look of mild fear in his eyes is imminent, he knows not what to expect. Neither do you.

You let out a breath that you didn't realise you'd been holding as you ease slowly into him, giving him time to adjust before you begin to rock violently into him.

His face is a perfect portrayal of his ecstasy, you would like to think that only you could give him this, but you know, like many things that this is not the case. Perhaps, had things turned out differently, had you been born to different cultures, had he been a woma- No. That would not make anything better at all. Women, for all that they were worth, were creatures of spite, you had learned. Like birds of prey, ever beautiful, would soon claw your eyes out than look at you.

You are yanked out of this train of thought as his muscles constrict hard around you, as he lets out a sharp cry, as you find a point inside of him that neither of you knew he had. A low, breathy moan escapes your lips, as you angle, searching for that same spot again, and drive into it, making him tremble and arch, pleading for you to keep going, or to stop, or do something before he went insane with the pleasure.

Once more, this violent thrust of your hips sends him tumbling over the edge, screaming your name as though he doesn't care who hears.

Another, and you join him, with a muted whimper, burying your face into his shoulder to hide the tears that threaten to fall.

"Oh, _Godric._" You sigh again, before removing yourself from his immediate vincinity, allowing him to shift and become comfortable in the grass, before you lay next to him and smile sadly.

After a while of silence, gazing up at the now black sky, he speaks.

"..Can we.. can this ever happen again?"

You take a moment to answer, musing silently as he props himself up on his elbows to look at you.

"...Perhaps." _Only in fairytales._

He seems satisfied with your answer, for he shifts closer into your waiting embrace and falls asleep.

When he wakes up, you are gone, with the wind, but in your wake is a note, written in your own elegant hand.

'_I'm sorry; I love you.' _

_--_

_Reviews are always appreciated, and indefinately encouraged. _


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